


What Never Was

by cero_ate



Category: A Brother's Price - Wen Spencer
Genre: Drugged Sex, F/M, marital rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:52:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cero_ate/pseuds/cero_ate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jerin longs for a different world rather than what he has, and is resigned to his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Never Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewhoguards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/gifts).



He bit his lip as he felt the cool wash of arousal come over him. Cold and insistent, spreading over his body. It spread from the prick at his arm and he felt his limbs go soft even as other parts, intimate parts hardened. He fell back against the pillows, as sumptuous as the rest of his room. Feather down filled mattress and pillows of course; his body rested on silken sheets of the highest quality. Nothing but the best for a husband such as he was. He waited as time seemed to slow around him, coming to revolve only around feeding the need within; the fire of the dragon tthat they awoke with a little powder and water mixed together.

He was used to it at this point; used to everything he had to do-, was expected to do. He had grown used to his gilded cage, his velvety smooth life of service. He was well trained in providing his wives the pleasure they desired.

He just couldn’t do it without a little bit of help.

Just a nip of help, nothing more than what they allowed him. They wanted a compliant, meek lover. One who was hard on command and fertile for their use. He was certainly fertile, as much as it pained him to admit it. His tests had come back from the doctor on his betrothal as the most fertile man they’d ever met.

Too bad that it didn't help much. But that was what the drugs were there to help him with.

He didn’t get hard for his Porter-Wives. He tried, but he knew what they were up to. Not that they’d shared with him; he was their darling husband after all, too sweet and soft to share their real work with him. It nearly killed him that he was owned by people who were so treasonous. It _would_ kill him someday. And they were getting entirely too reckless. At least their recklessness meant he had less women to service now. Attrition was getting to them. Either that or the sisters were offing their other sisters so they could have more of the spoils. The death that would come when they were found out by the Crown and the Princesses would be a blessed relief. Reminding them of that, along with his inability to keep steady for very long had resulted in the current arrangement. If he’d been good for a while, they didn’t even gag him during sex. Good meaning the right names were shouted at the right time after all. Daydreams were to be kept to himself if he had to indulge at all.

He ignored the feelings of the servants preparing him. That, too, was all part of the routine. They used to inject the drug but eventually he'd learned to do it himself. They weren’t careful, and marred his skin when they did it. It didn’t much matter to him, though but his wives still liked to display him on occasion and it was hard to do so when he couldn’t be put to their advantage because of tell-tale bruising. What kind of wives weren’t able to get a simple husband to service them when they owned him through legitimate means?

So he learned to stab himself, and the servants came in only after he was passive and ready for whichever wife he was to service. Sometimes he had more than one to do. But it didn’t much matter to him once he was drugged how many women he serviced. He’d be ready until the drug finally wore off after all. It was a relief almost to have that out of his hands. 

The servants cleaned him and prepped him and finally used padded cuffs (couldn’t show marks on his wrists with real cuffs after all) to tie him down and spread him wide so his wives could get between his legs easier.

And then he was left alone to really let it kick in until he was desperate for any touch, even his wives', if it meant they would be relieving the pressure. He was writhing on the bed as much as he could. Still, he couldn’t help but wish it was someone else, when Kij came through the door for her turn. His words to Cullen flung themselves back in his memory once more. “Eldest to youngest, without skipping a day.” Looks like it was an Eldest night. Her touch was mockingly gentle, his skin afire for it. But he still closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. If he did that he could pretend it was other hands, softer hands, less treasonous hands, touching his body. She didn’t leave marks all that often but he could tell tonight would be a bad night. He wondered what it would be like to have a wife that you loved, and who truly loved you back.

He felt her climb on top of him and while his body strained for her, his heart yearned for someone else. His eyes drifted closed and he gave himself over to his body's mechanics. In his mind's eye though, he saw red hair, green eyes. He saw fondness and love, rather than need and greed. He wished that his imaginations were the truth rather than the lie he lived. Soft voices, honest love, need and need reciprocated. Working from the top as well as enduring from the bottom. He wished he could have married the Princesses, as much a pipe dream as that was.

He just…if he let them do this, his Princesses and his family stayed safe. So he took his drugs like a good boy and he laid himself out. He let them climb on and was no better than his great grandfathers -whoever that was- in a military crib. But that was where he was bound when his Porter-wives were found out. It was probably good he was getting so much practice in. They would be found out eventually. His Princesses weren’t stupid. When the Porters were captured everything he knew and had heard was going to be found. He’d made sure of it, with the log he’d kept that his sisters could translate. He just prayed that that day came soon before he had to take matters into his own hands…one way or another. Until that day came, he was the Porter's husband who couldn't get it up without chemical aid. And his people stayed safer than they otherwise would be. That was the best a man could do in this society. Not all stories ended like Grandfather Alannon. His wouldn't. He made his peace with that each night as he was ridden until he was raw and orgasm brought neither sense of completion or release, just endless torture that he wasn't sure he could see beyond anymore.

When morning came and he was unbound, he brushed his long hair, and stared into the rising sun, exhausted in body and spirit. Any children he sired would be born into this life. He couldn't change that. But perhaps someday his Great Grandmother would once more set the shining coin spinning. Could he still catch it? He hoped so. It was all he had left.


End file.
